


Better Than Caffeine

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: Four-letter word for a sign of affection. Starts with a K.





	Better Than Caffeine

When they zipped themselves inside the tent last night, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. This morning, the haze of fog and rain is so thick that Ignis can barely make out the shape of the Regalia, parked a short distance away. He heard the first few drops on the tent and had enough time to put the car roof up and brew a thermos of coffee before the storm hit. Noctis, undeterred, is half-in, half-out of the doorway, gathering up his fishing gear.

“Can’t you close the tent flap? My hair’s getting wet.” Prompto tries to cover his head.

“It might be wise to continue on to our next destination,” Ignis suggests, lip quirking. He knows exactly what the prince will say next.

“Whatever. I’m going fishing.” Noctis heads down the short slope to the river’s edge. Prompto stumbles after him, resigned.

“At least that means fresh fish for lunch,” Gladio says without looking up from his magazine. He hasn’t bothered to put on his boots, knowing as well as Ignis what Noct’s decision would be.

Ignis crawls back inside and shakes the raindrops from his jacket before folding it. Gladio has rolled his sleeping bag into a long bolster along the side of the tent. He’s leaning back against it, working on a crossword puzzle, the tip of the pencil in his mouth. Ignis sits next to him so he doesn’t have to watch. The way Gladio nibbles absently at his writing implements is aggravatingly suggestive. 

“Didn’t you get enough breakfast?”

“Wood pulp provides valuable fiber, Iggy. What’s a six-letter word for a coffee that goes well with bundt cake?”

“Moccha. With two c’s.”

“Thanks.”

Ignis realizes he’s getting mud on the tent floor; he’s still wearing his shoes. He pulls them off and sets them in the corner next to his jacket. The patter of rain on the tent is lulling. His eyelids drop shut for a moment. He snaps them firmly open and takes a big swig of coffee. He didn’t sleep well last night, and it’s so cozy with Gladio curled up next to him, scratching away at the puzzle, his elbow on the tent floor and chin in hand. 

He occupies himself by checking news reports on his phone, but finds little of value. Their best source of news, the hunters, prefer radio communications. When he leans forward, Ignis can see Noctis and Prompto taking turns with the fishing rod. The bucket is still empty. The fish must not be biting. 

He looks over. The pencil has fallen from Gladio’s fingers, and his head is pillowed on his arm. He’s snoring faintly. A long lock of his hair has fallen across his face. As he breathes, it flutters lightly, then settles back against his mouth.

Ignis stares.

The temptation to touch is overwhelming. 

He wants to know what that close-cropped line of beard feels like under his fingers. Gladio’s skin looks unbelievably soft, a little flushed in the warm, humid tent. His lips are full and slightly parted.

Ignis reaches out and very gently brushes the lock of hair back.

It takes all his strength to put his hands around his coffee cup again. Gladio’s hair is silky. No gel in it at all. He has naturally stunning hair. And up close, it’s infinitely variated, auburn and russet and burnt sienna. Ignis imagines spreading apart the strands, cataloguing the composition of light and dark, curling the wave of it around his fingers.

Gladio stirs and opens his eyes. 

“I dreamed someone beautiful was touching me.”

His expression is mischievous. Ignis can’t tell if he’s teasing.

“You need more coffee.” He springs to his feet and retrieves the thermos. It’s still half-full. Noct and Prompto don’t appreciate good coffee. “Want some?”

“Yeah, I’ll take another cup. Thanks.”

Ignis refills his mug and Gladio’s. This time he settles down at the opposite side of the tent. His socks are wet from the puddle his jacket made on the tent floor. He spreads them out to dry and flicks open his phone screen.

“Ten-letter word for a vegetable that induces languidness. Hey, is that what you’ve been feeding Noct lately?”

“Terribly amusing. And it’s mandragora.”

“Thanks.” 

Ignis pulls up the map on his phone. There’s a gas station on the road ahead. He’ll have to remember to fill the Regalia. They’ve been burning through fuel quickly, and he’s running low on ingredients. They do always have plenty of fresh fish, but a varied diet is important. He considers options for stealthily increasing the amount of vegetables in the main dish. Perhaps a lasagna.

Gladio’s bare foot bumps against his.

Ignis goes rigid with surprise. Was it an accident? He holds still, waiting, but Gladio doesn’t move, or look up, or say anything. He’s still chewing on the pencil tip, staring at the crossword puzzle.

He rubs the side of his foot, just a little, against Ignis’s.

A multitude of calculations explode in Ignis’s head, blooming like fireworks, too fast to follow, a decision reached in a instant. 

He spreads his toes. 

The touch of Gladio’s skin is inflammatory beneath them. Warmth suffuses his body as his pulse picks up. Ignis is well-versed enough in human physiology to recognize the chemical reaction. It’s a better drug than caffeine. 

Gladio slides his other foot on top of Ignis’s and entwines their toes. Ignis returns the caress, staring out the tent door to keep from staring at Gladio, who still hasn’t looked up. Noct and Prompto’s voices float faintly up from the river bank. They seem to be arguing over whose fault it is that the line snapped.

“Iggy. Come here and help me with this puzzle.”

“You’ll have to let go of my foot first.”

“Do I?”

“Or I can help you from over here.”

“Fine.” He’s pleased to see how quickly Gladio relinquishes his grasp. “Come here.”

“Certainly.” Ignis brings his coffee cup with him and leans back against the bolster. “What do you need help with?”

“I don’t need help.” Gladio puts his arm around Ignis’s shoulders, gently at first, gauging the response. Ignis understands and leans in closer, looking down at the crossword.

“Yes you do. Midgardsormr has three r’s.”

“Oh, that explains why Tournesol didn’t work for fifteen down.” Gladio scrubs the letters away with the eraser end. The scent of his skin, pressed against Ignis’s cheek, is delicious. Fresh, like newly picked fruit. Gladio is wearing a black tank top. His bare shoulder is warm. Ignis has always been curious about the tattoo, having none himself. Does the tinted skin feel different to touch? The answer is no. Under his cheek, he can’t distinguish the feathers. 

“Four-letter word for a sign of affection.”

“Which one is that?” He peers closer. “I don’t see it.”

“Iggy.”

“What?”

“Four letters. Starts with a K.”

Ignis opens his mouth to speak and then closes it abruptly. “Oh.”

“I hope that’s a yes.”

“Indeed.”

He straightens up so they’re staring into each other’s eyes. Gladio cups his head, tracing his thumbs along Ignis’s jawline. They both move forward at the same time.

It’s better than caffeine.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow me at moon-festival.com.


End file.
